Keeping safe

"Now remember," I said, "this is a car park, and car parks are dangerous because there are people driving every which way, and some of them are paying more attention to the other cars than to people." "But," said the Boy Wonder, "if we walk inside these lellow lines, then we will be safe." R and I looked at each other, silently transmitting: How does he know things like this?? It's spooky. 

Anyway, spooky or not, here is the Boy doing neat heel-toe walking inside the yellow lines and keeping himself safe (though the almost military right turn he did a few steps later, as the line turned through 90°, would have put him out on the road if I hadn't scuttled to catch him up and stop him). In his left hand is the little folding magnifying glass I bought for him as we exited Slimbridge through the gift shop, which even if it never sees the light of day again has already provided him with £2.50 worth of interest, and R and me with several times that much in entertainment.

The Slimbridge visit was fun, though two elements that were big hits on previous occasions - sausages and Welly Boot Land - unexpectedly failed to engage him today. To be fair, the sausages were my fault: at the café counter he'd asked for sausage and beans, but it was too early at that point for R and me to want actual lunch, so I'd just ordered us a couple of coffees and a pastry to share. Inevitably, as soon as he saw this the Boy said "I want chocolate chwist!" "No darling," I said (already sensing impending defeat), "the chocolate twist is for Granddad and me. The sausages and beans are for you." "I don't like sausages," he said. "Yes you do!" "No I don't. I don't like sausages any more. I just like chocolate chwist." I said he could have a sliver of chocolate twist if he ate some sausage first, and he agreed, but when I cut him a slice he said, "That's too big." So I cut it in half. "Still too big," he said. I halved the halves, and he accepted a quarter slice, ate it, and said, "Now chocolate chwist!" "No," I said, "not yet. You have to eat more sausage first." He gazed at me for a second, and then said, "But. That was not the deal, ackshully. You said, I had to eat some sausage an' then I could have some chocolate chwist, an' I've eaten some sausage." I looked at R, who was almost crying with laughter, and knew I'd been completely outmanoeuvred by a child who turned three less than four weeks ago. In the end, the Boy's lunch consisted of baked beans, the squidgy middle of the chocolate chwist, and two rather good organic fruit juice mixes (pineapple/mango and strawberry/blackberry, which in my book equals four portions of fruit), while R and I had the sausage, and the crunchy ends of the pastry. 

After lunch we offered Welly Boot Land, but to our surprise the Boy chose the alternative, which was a walk down to the Estuary Tower. We popped into a couple of hides en route, and he behaved beautifully, looking at the birds and talking to me about them in a very quiet voice so as not to scare them. By the time we'd walked to the Tower and back, and climbed up and down it one and a bit times, he was tired and said he wanted to go home.

This afternoon we made a marmalade cake. "Mmmmm," said the Boy, as we did the first tasting. "It's delicious." (which it was, ackshully). B also did riotous swinging ("That was fun!" he said to R. "I loved it!") and bubble-blowing in the garden, watched The Wrong Trousers (for the umpteenth time) from his favourite TV viewing position on his indoor trampoline, and helped to make pesto pasta for dinner. By the end of bath time he could hardly keep his eyes open - and neither could I.